


way down we go

by Anonymous



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Gang Rape, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They have Jughead—incredible, witty, untouchable Jughead—on his knees in the middle of the room, one hand twisted behind his back and the other grasping at the dirty cement floor.(“Your dad doesn’t seem to understand the position he’s in,” the man said, crouching down, “What do you say we give him a little more incentive?”)





	way down we go

**Author's Note:**

> for the [kinkmeme prompt](http://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=369228#cmt369228/) : Archie and Jughead are kidnapped by the Southside Serpents (FP has a debt or pissed someone off) and Archie is forced to watch Jug get gang raped.  
> Bonus points if the attack is filmed and sent to FP who is with Fred at the time.  
> Lots of hurt Jughead with a dash of hurt Archie.  
> Extra bonus  
> A look into the aftermath.
> 
> (didn't do a look into the aftermath as much as could have, but still read the tags be careful dont hurt urself)

 

Archie had never been a fan of the Serpents. He didn’t really care about them at first, but then they’d trashed the drive-in construction site and then they’d beaten up Moose, and _then_ he’d found out that Jughead’s dad—who he wasn’t the biggest fan of to begin with—was a member, and that Archie’s dad had fired him because he was doing shady Serpent stuff on the side.

So. Not a great track record.

He liked them even less when they’d cornered he and Jughead on their way home from school, waiting for that long stretch of road that people rarely use before grabbing them. They’d done the whole bag-over-the-head thing, duct-taped their mouths shut before Archie could yell or Jughead could say some snarky shit that would probably get him kicked—small blessings, Archie guessed, scared out of his mind.

He doesn’t know where they are now, some room somewhere he’s never been, wrists duct-taped behind his back, but he does know that he hates the Serpents.

They have Jughead—incredible, witty, untouchable Jughead—on his knees in the middle of the room, one hand twisted behind his back and the other grasping at the dirty cement floor.

At first, Archie had been terrified, but once the Serpents had started talking amongst themselves after they’d tossed the two of them in a corner, he’d assumed they were being held for some kind of ransom. Apparently, he’d thought, disappointment overcoming his fear, FP had pissed some powerful people off—how he’d managed to get into deep shit with people in his own gang was a mystery to Archie. Jughead just seemed resigned, sagging against the wall, like he knew this kind of thing would happen someday. Maybe he had.

They’d waited like that, until Archie arms had started to fall asleep and Jughead himself was starting to fall asleep, for hours, maybe. There wasn’t a clock, wherever they were.

The Serpents who had stuck around seemed to be getting impatient, checking their phones and stepping outside to make calls. Archie wondered if FP knew what was happening. He wondered if he even knew that Jughead was gone, as awful as that sounded—sure, he’d gotten his job back, and he’d come in to work the past few days, but change didn’t magically happen overnight. Once, Jughead had slept over at Archie’s three days in a row before FP started wondering where he was.

Archie hoped that his dad knew something was up, by now. Maybe he was on his way to the sheriff’s station, or maybe he just thought he and Jughead were off being teenagers somewhere. He wouldn’t be wrong, necessarily.

Archie’s right arm was asleep by the time one of the gang members, a man in his early thirties, maybe, slammed the door and stomped right up to them.

“Your dad doesn’t seem to understand the position he’s in,” he’d said, crouching down and jerking Jughead awake, “What do you say we give him a little more incentive?”

And here they were now. They’d dragged Jughead to the middle of the room despite the way Archie had yelled through the duct tape, despite the way Jug had tried to pull away. Someone had shoved a boot into Archie’s stomach to get him to shut up. Someone else had clicked their phone camera on, standing in a corner on the other side of the room, angling it so Archie was in the shot, too.

Archie had always been aware of sexual assault in the vaguest of senses. He knew it was a thing, he knew it happened to people, but it had always beens something that happened to someone else. Grundy had been a rude awakening, but he still couldn’t ever picturing anything like that happening to any of his friends. To Jughead. God, especially not to Jughead.

Grundy was bad. This is worse. This is worlds away from worse.

Jughead is crying.

He’d fought back, at first, kicking at them, cursing at them when they’d ripped the tape off of his mouth, because of course he had. Archie knew he was scared, could see it in the way his hands shook behind his back, but Jughead was tough, always knew how to bury shit where Archie couldn’t. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to bury this.

Someone had pushed the beanie off his head to get a good grip on his hair; Jughead had made some kind of sound at that, high and scared, but it had been cut off when the man yanking at his hair had forced his dick into his mouth.

And he’d screamed so so loud when the ringleader, the one who drove the car, the one who started this mess, pushed into him, gripping his hips hard, pants shoved down his thighs. Archie thinks he’ll hear that scream for the rest of his life.

He’s crying, now. Archie is crying too, probably, can’t really tell with the pounding in his head from when he’d tried to pull free again, to get them to _stop,_ to do _something,_ and gotten his head knocked back against the wall. He’s so useless. He’s just _watching._ He’s so fucking useless.

Jughead gasps for breath, choking as another man cums down his throat. He falls forward, forehead braced on his arm, coughing, breathing like a drowning man. It’s a short respite, someone else unzipping his pants, stepping forwards, taking a fistful of thick hair and _pulling_.

“God, you have a pretty mouth,” this one says, running a thumb along Jughead’s lower lip, “No wonder FP doesn’t want you to get involved—knew you’d be someone’s bitch within an hour.”

A few people laugh. Archie stomach turns in revulsion. Jughead sobs.

“You know, I think I’d be okay if he didn’t cough up the money; I’d get to keep you, ” he continues, smile greasy, and yanks his head back further, pushing into his bruised mouth, “Now put that pretty mouth to work, okay?”

Jughead chokes again, pulled between the two men like a rag-doll, body gone limp, until the bad dirty talker cums. Archie is so fucking useless.

The one fucking him pulls out, manhandles Jughead up until he’s kneeling, trembling, and pushes back in, fucks into him just like that, a hand in his hair to keep his head up, baring him to the camera.

“Smile for daddy,” he says, cruel and breathless. Jughead sobs again, squeezing his eyes shut, and that— _that’s_ what gets the bastard to come.

The one recording puts his phone down, gives a thumbs up like he took a nice picture of a sunset instead of filming a fucking gang rape. The man propping Jughead up pushes him off like he’s something gross; Jughead lands in a messy heap on the ground, curls into himself and just stays there. 

“If that’s not enough to convince him, I don’t know what the fuck will,” he says, zipping up his pants and dusting himself off.

“Maybe his phone is dead,” someone laughs.

“Better not be, or else his kid’ll be dead, too.”

Jughead doesn’t even flinch, Archie notices, terrified. He doesn’t react at all. Archie’s heart beats wildly in his chest, beats even faster when one of them steps up to him, pocket knife in hand.

The man saws through the tape around his wrists, shoves him forwards, and says, “Clean your friend up. I’m not gonna do it.”

Archie scrambles to Jughead as fast as he fucking can.

 

Fred had knocked on the trailer door, his last resort, heart heavy and anxious. As soon as it swung open, FP looking half asleep and had to the world, his heart had felt even heavier.

“Is Archie here?” he’d asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

When FP had shaken his head, Fred’s took a deep, steadying breath, “Is Jug here, then?”

“Uh—no, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t _think_ so? You don’t _know_ where he is?”

“I thought he was with you,” FP had shot back, defensive, “He’s always over there these days.”

“Well, he’s not there now. And neither is Archie. They’re not at Betty’s, either, or Veronica’s. I checked.”

FP’s face had fallen, “Fuck.”

They’d rushed around town for hours, trying to keep calm, fear growing a little more every time the boys weren’t there, weren’t at Pop’s or the park or even the construction site. Eventually, they’d driven back to the trailer—FP had left his phone at home, apparently charging for the first time in days, and Fred was sure that if Jug didn’t pick up when he called him, he’d lose it. Both of them would.

It buzzes the moment they’re inside. FP rushes across the trailer; Fred follows, heart hammering in his throat.

It isn’t a text from Jughead, Fred sees, looking over FP’s shoulder. There are a series of texts, missed calls, but those aren’t from Jughead, either. The newest one is an attachment from an unknown number, twenty minutes of video.

Fred hovering behind him, FP swallows, thumb hovering over the little triangle in the middle of the screen, and presses play.

They stand through it, twenty minutes and thirty six seconds of low lighting, phone recorded video, frozen. FP flinches every time Jughead makes a sound, eyes wide in disbelief. Fred throws up in the sink five minutes in, the look of horror on Archie’s face burned into his mind, Jughead’s scream ringing in his ears, but FP doesn’t look away even for a moment, just holds the phone tight enough that his knuckles turn white, hands shaking.

But god, the _sounds._ The fucking sounds. In the decade Fred has known him, he thinks, horrified, he’s never heard Jughead scream like that.

_Smile for daddy,_ someone says, and that’s when FP breaks, phone clattering to the floor. He would’ve clattered to the floor too, but Fred gets an arm around him, pulls him back up.

“FP,” he says, forcing his voice to be firm, “We don’t have time for a break down. Where are they?”

“I—“ he shakes his head, looking lost.

“Where are our fucking boys, FP?”

FP opens his mouth, shuts it, runs a shaking hand through his hair, and says, “We need four thousand dollars.”

 

When Dad and FP finally find them, the Serpents are long gone. They’d seemed content on their way out, so Archie assumes that they finally got whatever the fuck they wanted. Good for them. They burst in, looking all kinds of terrified, and Archie is so relieved he could cry—does cry, when his dad pulls him into a hug.

FP pulls Jughead out of Archie’s arms where he was curled against him, holds him to his chest and sobs broken apologies into his hair. Jughead buries his head in FP’s shoulder, and just shakes.

His beanie is still on the floor, dirty and tossed aside, and Archie knows nothing will ever be the same.

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry jug


End file.
